The best musicians are those engulfed in their art. Sure, they have other talents and interests, but at the end of the day, they play music because they don't feel quite right doing anything else. Writing songs is an outlet, but also a compulsion.

Paul Schalda, one of the most promising local talents of recent years, seems to be just such a musician. He has a knack for simple, bluesy grooves, honest lyrics and a voice all his own: Resonant, emotive and unique.

When we talked to Schalda -- aka Pablo -- in 2006, the sandy-haired guitarist was performing at New York City's CMJ Music Marathon, getting heavy rotation on respected indie radio stations like Seattle's KEXP, and preparing to take his band (which at the time included his wife, Maggie, and brother, Will) on a long national tour in support of locally connected indie rocker-turned-solo-acoustic-heartthrob Kevin Devine.

National Public Radio's John Richards rated "Half the Time" one of the year's Top 10 CDs, lauding its "autobiographical view of the world that could be just about anyone's experience dealing with everyday worries and routines. Schalda's distinct and heart-aching voice bring out the kind of emotion you immediately identify with and can't ignore."

Pablo seemed on the verge of taking things to the next level. But writing and playing your own stuff isn't always simple. Sometimes, it makes for hard lessons.

Two years after our first encounter with him, the 30-year-old singer-songwriter's situation seems less certain, his intense gray-blue eyes flash new wisdom -- and wounds. The road was hard on him: He had a falling out with his brother, separated from his wife and now has no label, no touring prospects and no obvious direction in which to move next.

What Schalda does have, however, is his first set of local appearances in a good while -- one of which happens at Stapleton's Martini Red July 19.

He also has a new record, tracked in March at the fabled Levon Helms Studios in Woodstock, N.Y., where Helms and the rest of The Band, Muddy Waters, Elvis Costello and My Morning Jacket have all recorded. Previews of the 10 new songs on "There's Rope To Leave," now entrenched in the tedious process of mixing and mastering, reveal Pablo's journey in live, wide open sound.

Associated PressSchalda at 2006 Starbucks Avant-Grande Music competition, where he won a slot on the Central Park SummerStage.

"I really just want to finish the record so I have it -- then I can think of getting a manager and shopping it to labels," said Schalda at a recent listening session in his St. George apartment. "I was thinking about adding stuff, but I really like how open and live it is. On the last record, it was really led by the guitar, but this one's got more bass lead stuff in it, and more drums."

Joined by Budos Band's Daniel Foder on bass, studio engineer Justin Guip on drums and Will Schalda's impressive and lyric piano, Schalda has put together a set of what he's the first to admit is darker material. He doesn't like to divulge exactly what his songs are about, but titles ("Holy Whore") and snippets of his melodic doubled vocals ("I don't want to distort my role/but if I were to say we'd all be OK, I'd be wrong") bear this admission out.

The tracks on "There's Rope to Leave" are harder-edged, sometimes downright mean sounding, but they still include Pablo and company's pension for dynamics and surprising transitions. Dark grooves turn into beautiful release. Loud, soaring choruses get sucked into near silence, Schalda's hoot turning on a dime into a whisper over a barely strummed minor chord. It's thoroughly in Pablo's style of music, but it also has new energy and therefore potential.

The price for that new energy hasn't been small.

"Touring with a band isn't very good for relationships -- it's hard on you, and when you're going on tour without your wife, that's guilt right there," said Schalda, cracking a Budweiser on one of his days off from Starbucks, where he works when not on the road or making music. "I could get on stage without almost anybody, but I couldn't get on stage without my brother. I had to take care of that first, before anything else, and it took a while."

Paul and Will worked out their differences in time for the older brother to play on the new record and start playing out, but Schalda and his wife's relationship -- while stable -- is still a source of pain.

"You think it's gonna get better, but it sort of hasn't," he said, shrugging.

No matter how tough things get in his personal life, however, Schalda seems focused on the prize: Getting the record done, and playing out again. He's excited to perform at Martini Red with a full band, and during our interview, seemed to be making lots of mental notes for further mixing of "There's Rope To Leave."

When things are tough, sometimes your creations seem that much more vital, and in Paul Schalda's case, the drive -- wherever it comes from -- remains intense.